"Surely, now I shall get a wife." He looked about and found a pretty
white stone with a hole in it lying near. He picked it up and,
stringing it on a long grass stem, hung it about his neck.
As soon as he had done this he pushed up his bill so that it slid to
the top of his head like a mask, and he became a dark-colored young
man. At the same time each of the geese pushed up its bill in the same
manner, and they became nice-looking people.
Raven walked toward them, and was much pleased with the looks of the
girl and, going to her, gave her the stone which she hung about her
neck. By doing this she showed that she accepted him for her husband.
Then they all pulled down their bills, becoming birds again, and flew
away toward the south.
The geese flapped their wings heavily and worked along slowly, while
Raven on his outspread wings glided along faster than his party, and
the geese gazed after him in admiration, exclaiming, "How light and
graceful he is!" and the little bride was very proud of her fine
husband.
But Raven was not accustomed to the long, all-day flights of the
geese, and he became tired.
"We would better stop early and look for a good place to spend the
night," he said. The others agreed to this, so they stopped and were
soon asleep.
Early the next morning the geese were astir, but Raven slept so
heavily that the father goose had to shake him and say, "Wake up! Wake
up! We must make haste for it will snow here soon; we must not
linger."
As soon as Raven was fully awake he pretended to be eager to get away,
and, as on the day before, he led all the others with his wide-spread
wings, and was greatly admired by the others, especially by his young
wife. He kept on, above or in front of his companions, and his bride
would often say, "See how gracefully he skims along without having to
flop heavy wings as we do," and she gave her brothers a side glance
which made them feel that she was contrasting their clumsiness with
his ease. After that tactless remark, the four brothers-in-law began
to feel envious of Raven.
* * * * *
They stopped one evening on the seashore, where they feasted upon the
berries which were plentiful there, and then they settled down for the
night and fell asleep. In the morning the geese were making ready to
start without waiting for breakfast, and Raven's stomach cried out for
more of the berries. But father goose said they could not wait, and he
dared not object to starting. The brothers-in-law had secretly urged
the father not to wait, for they said, "Our sister needs to have some
of the conceit about that husband of hers taken out of her; and so
does he."
Raven dreaded the long flight across the sea, for he heard father
goose say, "We will make only one stop in crossing this water. There
is an island in the center of it, and there we will rest for a short
time and then go on to the farther shore."
Raven was ashamed to say that he feared he could never reach that
farther shore, so he determined to keep still and risk it; and off
they all flew.
The geese kept steadily on and on. After a long time Raven began to
fall behind. His wide-spread wings ached, yet the geese kept steadily
and untiringly on. His vanity was no longer gratified by admiring
remarks from his companions, for he was flapping heavily along.
Sometimes he would glide on outspread pinions for a time, hoping to
ease his tired wings, but he fell farther and farther behind.
Finally the geese looked back and the brothers said, sarcastically,
"We thought he was light and active." The father goose said, "He must
be getting tired. We must not press him too hard. We will rest."
The geese sank upon the water close together, and Raven came laboring
up and dropped upon their backs, gasping for breath. In a short time
he partially recovered and, putting one hand on his breast, said, "I
have an arrow-head here from an old war I was in, and it pains me
greatly; that is the reason I fell behind."
He had his wife put her hand on his breast to feel the arrow-head
which he declared was working its way into his heart. She could feel
nothing but his heart beating like a trip-hammer with no sign of an
arrow-point. But she said nothing, for her brothers were whispering,
"We don't believe that story about the arrow-point! How could he live
with an arrow in his heart?"
They rested two or three times more, he sinking upon their backs as
before; but when they saw the far-off shore before them father goose
said, "We can wait for you no more," for they were eager to reach the
land and find food.
They all arose and flew on, Raven slowly flapping along behind, for
his wings felt heavy. The geese kept steadily on toward the shore,
while he sank lower and lower, getting nearer to the dreaded water.
When the waves were almost touching him he shrieked to his wife:
"Leave me the white stone; it has magical powers. Throw me the white
stone."
Thus he kept crying until suddenly his wings lost their power and he
floated helplessly on the water as the geese gained the shore. He
tried to rise from the water but his wings seemed to be weighted down,
and he drifted back and forth along the beach. The waves arose and one
whitecap after another broke over him till he was soaked, and it was
only with the greatest difficulty that he could get his beak above the
surface to breathe a little between the billows.
After a long time a great wave cast him upon the land, and as it
flowed back he dug his claws into the sand to save himself from being
dragged back into the sea. As soon as he was able he struggled up the
beach, an unhappy looking object. The water ran in streams from his
soaked feathers and his wings dragged on the ground. He fell several
times, and at last, with wide-gaping mouth, he reached some bushes. As
soon as he could get his breath he took off his raven coat and pushed
up his beak, becoming a small, dark-colored man.
"From this time on, forevermore I'm done with being a goose," he
declared.
XXXI
EVEN A GRASS PLANT CAN BECOME SOMEONE IF IT TRIES
Near the mouth of the Yukon grows a tall, slender kind of grass which
the women gather and dry in the fall and use for braiding mats and
baskets and for pads in the soles of skin boots.
One of these grass stalks that had been almost pulled out by the roots
when the women were gathering others, did not like the fate in store
for it.
"Why should I stay on in this shape and never become anything but a
pad in the sole of a boot to be trodden on forever? It must be nicer
to be the one who treads on the pad; but since I cannot be that, I
will at least be something better than grass."
Looking about, it spied a bunch of herbs growing close by, looking so
quiet and unmolested that the grass stem said, "I will be an herb;
that is a higher and safer life than this."
At once it was changed into an herb like those it had envied, and for
a time it remained in peace. But one day the women came back with
baskets and picks and began to dig up these herbs and eat some of the
roots, putting others into the baskets to take home. The changed plant
was left standing when the women went home toward evening, but it had
seen the fate of its companions.
"This is not very safe either, for now I should be eaten. I wish I had
chosen some other form," it said.
Looking down, it saw a tiny, creeping vine clinging close to the
ground. "That is the thing to be," it said. "That is so obscure and
lowly that the women will never notice it. I will be a vine like
that."
Without delay it became a little squawberry vine nestling under the
dead leaves. It had not lived in peace and seclusion very long before
the women came and tore up many of the vines, stopping just before
they reached the changeling, and saying, "We will come back to-morrow
and get the rest."
The one-time grass plant was filled with fear, and changed itself
quickly into a small tuber-bearing plant like some that were growing
near. Scarcely had the change been made when a small tundra mouse came
softly through the grass and began digging at a neighboring plant,
holding up the tuber in its paws and nibbling it, after which the
mouse crept on again.
"To be safe, I must be a mouse," thought the changeling. "Animals are
a higher kind of being than plants, anyway. I will be a mouse."
Instantly it became a mouse and ran off, glad of the change. Now and
then it would pause to dig up a tuber, or would sit up on its hind
feet to look around on the new scenes that came into view.
"This is much more delightful than being a plant and always staying in
one place and never seeing anything of the world," it said.
While traveling nimbly along in this manner, the mouse observed a
strange white animal coming through the air toward it, which kept
dropping down upon the ground, and after stopping to eat something, it
would fly on again.
When it came near, the mouse saw that it was a great white owl. At the
same moment the owl saw the mouse and swooped down upon it. Darting
off, the mouse was fortunate enough to escape by running into a hole
made by one of its kind, and the owl flew off.
After a while the mouse ventured to come out of its shelter, though
its heart still beat painfully from its recent fright. "I will be an
owl, and in that way be safe," thought the mouse, and with the wish it
was changed into a beautiful white owl.
"Oh, this is fine!" he said. "It is glorious to fly through the air,
and go up almost to the sky where I can look down on all the world.
I'm glad that I was not content to stay always down in the dirt."
With slow, noiseless wing flaps the owl set off toward the north,
pausing every now and then to catch and eat a mouse. After a long
flight Sledge Island came in view and the owl thought it would go
there. When far out at sea its untried wings became so tired that only
with the greatest difficulty did it manage to reach the shore, where
it perched upon a piece of driftwood that stood up in the sand.
In a short time it saw two fine-looking men pass along the shore, and
the old feeling of discontent arose again. "Those men were talking in
a better-sounding language than mine. They seemed to understand each
other, and they laughed and were having a good time. I will be a man."
With a single flap of wing it stood upon the ground, where it changed
immediately into a fine young man. But, of course, the feathers were
gone and the Man had no clothing. Night came down upon the earth soon
after, and the Man sat down with his back against the stick of wood on
which, as an owl, he had perched, and slept till morning. He was
awakened by the sun shining in his eyes, and upon arising, felt stiff
and lame from the cold night air.
He found some of the same grass which he had once been, and braided it
into a kind of mantle which kept out a little of the cold. Seeing a
reindeer grazing, he felt a sudden desire to kill it and eat its
flesh. He crept close on his hands and knees, and, springing forward,
seized it by the horns and broke its neck with a single effort.
He felt all over its body and found that its skin formed a covering
through which he could not push his fingers. For a long time he tried
to think how to remove the skin, and finally noticed a stone with a
sharp edge with which he managed to cut through the hide. Then he
quickly stripped the animal with his hands, and tore out a piece of
flesh which he tried to swallow as he had swallowed mice when he was
an owl. He found that he could not do this easily, so he tore off
small bits and ground them with his teeth.
He had already discovered that by striking two stones together they
grew warm and felt good to his cold hands. So now he struck them
together until sparks came with which he lighted some dry weeds and
brush and had a fire to cook his meat and to warm himself.
The next morning he killed another reindeer and the day following two
more and wrapped himself in their skins from head to foot, with the
raw side next his own flesh, as the animals had worn them. The skins
soon dried on him and became like a part of his body.
As the nights grew colder and colder, he collected a quantity of
driftwood from the shore, with which he built him a rude hut, which he
found very comfortable. Walking over the hills one day he came near to
a strange, black animal eating berries from the bushes. He crept up to
it and grasped it by its hind legs. With an angry growl it turned to
face him, showing its white teeth. He knew then that he must not let
go his hold of it, so he swung it high over his head and brought it
down on the ground with such force that the bear lay dead.
In skinning the bear he saw that it contained much fat, and that he
might have a light in his house if he could find something that would
hold the grease and yet not take fire itself. Going along the beach he
found a long, flat stone with a hollow in one surface, and in this
the oil remained very well, and with a lighted moss wick he found it
much pleasanter to get about his house at night. The bearskin he hung
up for a curtain to his door to keep out the cold wind.
In this way he lived for many days, but he was a human being now, and
needed human society. He remembered the two young men he had seen on
the beach when, as an owl, he sat on the post on the shore.
"Two men passed here once, and I liked them," said he. "They may live
not far from here. I should like to see someone like myself. I will go
seek them."
He went in search of people. Wandering along the coast for some
distance he came to two fine new kayaks lying at the foot of a hill,
and in the kayaks were spears, lines, floats, and other hunting
implements. After examining these curiously, he noticed a path leading
up to a hill. He followed the path and on the top of the hill he found
a house with two storehouses near it and several recently killed white
whales and many skulls around it.
Wishing to see the people in the house before showing himself, he went
with noiseless steps into the entrance way and up to the door.
Cautiously lifting one corner of the skin curtain that hung in the
doorway, he looked in. Opposite the doorway was a young man sitting at
work on some arrows, while a bow lay beside him. He dropped the
curtain and stood for some time in doubt as to how to proceed.
"If I enter the house he may shoot me before I have time to make known
my good will," thought he. But in the end he thought, "If I enter and
say, 'I have come, brother,' he will not hurt me." So, raising the
curtain quickly, he entered.
The householder at once seized the bow and drew an arrow to the head
just as the intruder said, "I have come, brother." At this the bow and
arrow were dropped and the young man cried out with delight, "Are you
my brother? Come and sit beside me."
This the newcomer very gladly did, and the householder showed his
pleasure and asked, "Are you really my brother? I am very glad to see
you, brother, for I always believed I had one somewhere, though I
never could find him. Where have you lived? Have you known any
parents? How did you grow up?"
"No, I have never known any parents. I never was born and never grew
up. I just found myself a man standing on the seashore. There I built
me a house and made myself as comfortable as I could; but I was
lonely, so I came to find you."
"I also never had any parents that I can recall. My earliest
recollection was of finding myself alone in this house, where I have
lived ever since, killing game for food. I was alone until this friend
came to stay with me. Now you, my brother, shall live here too, and we
will never be parted again."
* * * * *
And thus, by always striving to be something higher, the downtrodden
grass plant became a MAN.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's A Treasury of Eskimo Tales, by Clara Kern Bayliss